Stars, Shining Bright Above You
by lithugraph
Summary: There were fast cars and bootleg liquor. A booming economy that crumbled just as quickly as it began. And through it all, there was the nation himself, smiling through in that determined way of his. But of all the things Lithuania could have missed about America, it was the jazz he would miss the most.


** Music is the universal language of mankind – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

* * *

Lithuania was the perfect servant.

He knew the exact time when America would wake and stumble, bleary-eyed, down the stairs looking for his glasses and a cup of coffee. And Lithuania had them both ready – glasses, cleaned and polished, in the right hand; coffee, black with two scoops of sugar, in the left.

He knew when America would be hungry or tired or thirsty. He knew these things before the nation himself knew them. And Lithuania always had a meal ready, had the bed turned down and a set of pajamas laid out, had a glass of milk within arm's reach.

He was _the_ perfect servant.

But the first few years of his new life with America were not easy. Oh, it wasn't the work – _that_ was easy, something he had been doing for decades already. No. It wasn't the work. It was the nation himself.

Lithuania knew America would be different. He knew and wanted to go anyway, desperately needing the money. But knowing still could not prepare him. He was used to Russia. And Poland. Had spent centuries with them. America was still the new kid, radiating a kind of zeal, an enthusiasm on par with Poland's but not quite as superficial, having emerged victorious from that slog of a war. Maybe that was where his fervor stemmed from, Lithuania thought. Regardless of the reason, the kid was still an untested entity, and he and Lithuania spent the first few years tiptoeing around each other.

America had fast cars, bright lights and movie screens, skyscrapers and celebrities – all things brilliant and dazzling – and when America showed them off to Lithuania, the Baltic just smiled in that reticent way of his, making America think Lithuania was less than impressed.

He took Lithuania to secret clubs hidden behind walls in the back of barbershops or under apothecaries. They rubbed shoulders with politicians and gangsters drinking bathtub gin, each speaking their own dialect of Americanese, infused with a slang that made Lithuania quietly laugh.

But no matter how much stuff, how much _American-ness_, America flung at Lithuania, the Baltic couldn't help but feel what he truly was: a stranger in a strange land. He spoke the language but not really – not the way America did. He liked driving America's car but hated the constant noise of car engines and honking horns. The bright lights kept him awake, and the skyscrapers, dizzying to look at, made him feel even smaller. He just didn't understand this loud nation and didn't think he ever would, until he heard something one night that gave him pause in finishing his nightly chores.

It was summer. The windows in America's house were open. A cool breeze wafted in off the Potomac bringing with it a sound Lithuania had never heard in America's house: the bright, brassy sound of a trumpet blowing out one low, trilled note. Lithuania listened as the music began to intensify. He recognized that piece. It was Gershwin's _Rhapsody in Blue_. America had played the record for him a few times on the Victrola. But this wasn't the record – this was someone playing live. Lithuania put down his cleaning rag and followed the sound.

It was coming from the back garden. Lithuania poked his head out the back door and saw America, leaning against the back porch rail, head bowed, and trumpet at his lips. He looked up when he saw the Baltic. The brassy notes ended, leaving behind a ringing silence punctuated by the thrum of traffic in the distance.

"Oh, hey," America grinned, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not keepin' you up or anything, am I?"

Lithuania shook his head.

"Oh. Well. That's…good, I guess. Wait! No. That's not what I – I meant, uh – "

"I didn't know you played an instrument," Lithuania said simply.

"What?" America said, obviously flustered. Then, remembering the trumpet held in his hand: "Oh! Oh. Yeah. Right. I've been, um…w-well I've played it for a couple years. At least since last century. Y'know – just – off and on."

Lithuania nodded.

An awkward silence fell around them.

America ran a hand through his hair, grinning uneasily again. His glasses glinted in the light spilling out from the opened windows. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lithuania was already turning on his heel and heading back inside the house.

America's jaw shut with an audible clacking of teeth. He furrowed his brow, wondering what he'd said or done.

Lithuania appeared moments later, a violin and bow clutched in one hand. He smiled his quiet smile and began to play….

America's mouth fell open inelegantly again as he listened.

"…That was beautiful," he said in a hushed voice once Lithuania had finished.

Lithuania lowered his violin, gave a small shrug of a shoulder. "It sounds better with a quartet. But thank you."

Then, silently, wordlessly, America brought his trumpet back up to his lips and began to improvise a tune. Lithuania raised his violin, following the other nation's lead at first before taking over.

They continued this back and forth trade off well into the night, the noise of the traffic subsiding, the lights of the city fading.

The stars shone brightly overhead.

.

.

.

Nights and nights passed, each one filled with music. Sometimes they played together, other times one played while the other listened. Sometimes America played his records and taught Lithuania how to dance the Charleston and the Lindy Hop.

But then the fever struck, leaving America too weak to blow his horn or dance a quickstep.

Lithuania took care of him as much as he could, but they could not afford the same rich foods they had grown accustomed to eating the decade before. Lithuania waited in breadlines and cooked nothing but beans, beans, beans. He tried to smile through his apologies as he spooned them into America's mouth. America accepted them gratefully, knowing he had brought them to this.

One night, as America lay in bed, his fever ratcheting up another degree despite the cold compresses Lithuania dutifully applied to his forehead, he took the Baltic's hand, entwining their fingers.

"Hey, Liet," America rasped with a tired smile, his eyes shining too brightly for Lithuania's liking.

"Yes?"

"Will you play me somethin'? To help me sleep?"

Lithuania chewed his bottom lip a moment before nodding with a quiet resignation.

"Thanks," America breathed, relaxing his hold on Lithuania's hand.

The Baltic somberly rose, retrieving his violin. When he returned, America's eyes were half-lidded, his breathing no longer shallow. That was good, at least, Lithuania thought, as he tucked his instrument under his chin and began to play.

.

.

.

As Hoover's presidency came to an end, as Roosevelt took office, America found himself improving. The fever had left him weak and thin, but he was able to move around on his own now, though Lithuania still would rush to his side when he thought the other nation might pass out.

America still had not picked up his trumpet – not since before his illness – and it didn't seem like he would be playing it anytime soon. His new president kept him busy, working on ways to fix the economy. America spent his days locked in meetings only to come home and spend the nights going over paperwork in his office.

That was how Lithuania found him one evening in April. He had finished his cleaning and was about to go bed when he passed America's office and saw the other nation, seated behind his desk, both hands clutching his head as he stared down at the papers spread before him, a blank look on his face. The window was open to the crisp spring air. A record spun on the Victrola, its needle bumping and scratching. America apparently had not noticed it had stopped playing.

"Mister America?"

America's head snapped up at the voice. His eyes blinked dazedly. "Just goin' over some stuff. Be finished tomorrow, I prom – " he muttered distractedly, until he realized who had spoken. "Oh! Hey, Liet."

"What are you doing?" Lithuania said, stepping into the office.

"Workin'." America flashed a toothy grin.

"You should be resting."

The smile slid away from America's face. "Nah. I'm okay. Really. I…I gotta finish this stuff."

Lithuania shot him a disbelieving look.

America sighed, smoothing his hair back. "Fine. You're right. Guess there's no lying to you, huh?"

Lithuania let out a little laugh and shook his head. "I've lived with you long enough. And don't forget, I was with Russia for a century before, so I think I'm pretty good at reading people."

America laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "I guess you are," he said with a wink. "That still doesn't negate the fact I need to finish this. But…God, I'm so tired."

"I'm sure your boss will understand," Lithuania said. He went over to America and held out his hands, ready to help the other nation to his feet.

America gave him a small, shy smile. "Maybe," he said, taking Lithuania's hands.

Lithuania pulled America to his feet. Both laughed and stumbled as the Baltic overbalanced and knocked into the Victrola. The needle bounced up, resettling itself in a groove. Music began to play as America wrapped his hands around Lithuania's hips to steady him.

Lithuania blinked, his breath catching in his throat. They had never stood this close before. Not even when they danced. And he was just a servant, still under obligation to America, still under his employment. Wasn't he?

Lithuania swallowed, averting his gaze nervously.

America's mouth settled into an even line. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses as his head cocked to the side, an odd look on his face. Then, wordlessly, silently, he positioned one hand on Lithuania's upper back and held the other one up and at shoulder height to begin leading the Baltic in a foxtrot.

Lithuania tensed, feet refusing to move. He did not like having his back touched and was worried America would feel the old, raised welts beneath his shirt.

"I'm sorry!" America immediately apologized, eyes widening, afraid he'd somehow offended the Baltic. "I'm sorry. That was – was presumptuous of me."

"N-no. It was fine." Lithuania pulled away, angling his head up to look America in the eyes. "But…i-if you want to dance, could we not – dance – like that?"

A small crease wrinkled America's brow, but he just nodded and said: "Okay. How would you like to dance?"

Lithuania took America's hand and led him out into the back garden. The music continued to play through the open window. Lithuania positioned one of America's hands on his hip while he wrapped his around America's back and held the other one.

Lithuania looked up at the stars as they began a slow waltz around the garden.

"How's this?" he asked, locking his gaze with America's once more.

"Better," was the whispered response.

America pulled Lithuania closer, one hand reaching up to card through his long brown hair. They had stopped dancing, but Lithuania felt as if he were still spinning. He angled his head up as America angled his down, their lips meeting in a soft embrace.

.

.

.

Lithuania was not anticipating the knock on the door, but in retrospect, he supposed he should have known it was coming.

"Don't worry, Alfred, I'll get it," Lithuania called, bounding down the stairs. But America had already slid back the deadbolt. As his hand was turning the knob, a gust of wind seemed to blow the door open. What greeted them on the other side made Lithuania freeze halfway down the stairs.

"I have come to collect what is mine," the familiar, lilting voice said.

"What!?" America balked, glaring up at Russia. "What the crap is this about?"

"You heard me," Russia answered calmly.

America crossed his arms, tilting his chin up. "And _what_ exactly is yours to collect?"

Russia's eyes flicked over to Lithuania, standing petrified on the stairs.

"You are unfit to care for him any longer."

"Says who?" America challenged. "In case you haven't noticed, things are gettin' better around here. Liet's seen me through the worst of it."

Russia smiled – a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Believe me, America, when I say I have nothing but his best interests at heart."

America was about to tell Russia exactly what he could do with those "interests," when Lithuania spoke up: "It's all right, Mister America."

Lithuania looked from one nation to the other, a quiet resignation in his eyes. He descended the stairs, feet mechanically carrying him to the front door, and placed a hand on America's shoulder.

"I'll go with him," Lithuania said gently. He then turned to Russia, his voice becoming icy. "Let me pack first."

"Of course," Russia said cheerily.

America began to protest but fell silent at a look from Lithuania.

The Baltic was packed in under five minutes, not having brought much with him. He held a suitcase in either hand, his violin case tucked under one arm. America's face fell when he saw it, reminding him of all those nights they had played together, the nights when Lithuania had played for him when he was sick….

There _had_ to be another way.

America could not allow Russia to just take him away like this….

Lithuania read the look on America's face. He gave his head the slightest shake. "We will see each other again," he said quietly. "I know it."

America felt himself nod as Russia's massive hand was wrapping around Lithuania's shoulder and steering him out of the house.

The door shut, plunging the house into an echoing silence.

The house was too big, too empty, too quiet.

He needed to fill it with noise – and not just the ringing static between his ears.

America turned and ran up the stairs to his room. He snatched up his trumpet and blew a loud, long vibrato until all the air had left his lungs. He doubled over, panting, catching his breath. Once his breathing had evened, he straightened his back and began to play _I'll be Seeing You_.

One more song.

For Lithuania.

.

.

.

_**A/N**__ Fic Song List:_

_**George Gershwin – Rhapsody in Blue**__ Composed in 1924, Rhapsody in Blue combined elements of both classical and jazz music_

_**Mikalojus Konstantinas Ciurlionis – Fugue in F Sharp Minor for String Quartet**__ (what Lithuania plays for America) Ciurlionis (1875-1911) was a prolific Lithuanian composer and painter, writing over 400 pieces of music and creating around 300 paintings. Google this guy. Look him up. Seriously. Listen to his stuff. Brilliant, amazing work._

_**Ozzie Nelson – Dream a Little Dream of Me **__(what Lithuania and America dance to in the garden) Most people are probably familiar with the Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstrong duet recorded in 1950. For the sake of this fic, I used the Ozzie Nelson version recorded in 1931. Also, the title "Stars, Shining Bright Above You" comes from the opening line in the song._

_**Billie Holiday – I'll be Seeing You **__According to head-canon, Russia came to get Lithuania shortly after the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact was signed in the fall of 1939. This song was originally written in 1938 and was a known jazz standard at the time, though I could not find any recordings of it from then. The most well-known version is Lady Day's recording in 1944._


End file.
